A Change of Address
by cagd
Summary: It's London in the 1970s and punk is all the rage. Spike, safety pins and all, decides it's time to move to a new lair...


_London, 197-_

We, meaning Miss Edith and myself, the incomparable Drusilla, are extremely vexed with our Dark Star.

Yes.

We.

Are.

Very. Vexed. Indeed.

We are vexed because our Dark star says that Drusilla and Miss Edith's beloved things are junk, and that we need to move and leave Drusilla and Miss Edith's beloved things behind.

William, our beloved things are not _junk_, they are _things!_

We need our things, don't we Miss Edith? Yes indeed, Miss Edith both agrees and approves. Miss Edith says that a lady needs her things, or else she isn't a lady.

So there, Dark Star!

Still, when Miss Drusilla tried to tell her Dark Star this important thing about being a lady, all he said was, "Bloody Hell pet, what on earth do you need with fifty yards of red flannel and a bag of chicken feathers still attached to the chickens?"

Drusilla replied as she was reluctantly preparing to move, "One never knows when one may have need of fifty yards of red flannel and chicken feathers that are still attached to the chickens."

Miss Edith who was helping, agreed,

To this, our Dark Star said, "But they're all MANKY!" Which wasn't very nice of him.

"Drusilla has had them for a long time. She is quite attached to them. Anyway, the Queen of the May might send a request for such things - one must always be ready for the Queen of the May."

Our Dark Star said with a strange look on his face, the same look that he gets whenever his Drusilla is being quite reasonable, "What the… What… the… _Pet, why in all that's evil would the Queen of the May, or any Queen want dead chickens and red flannel what's so eaten wi' moths that it looks like lace?"_

"One never knows," said his Drusilla primly, "But one must always be prepared for Royalty. They are ever so eccentric and tasty."

Our Dark Star rolled his eyes, "Well Queen of June, July or soddin' August, you can only take your dresses and Miss Edith - I ain't luggin' the rest of this owd crap to our new lair. It stays behind!"

"It comes with us!" Said Drusilla very reasonably as she heaved a fruitcake that she had been saving for a special occasion at her beloved.

Our considerate Dark Star caught the cake with his pretty forehead, k-thud!

He went face down like a sack of dead chickens, flomp.

Miss Drusilla packed him in the same bag as her collection of dead chickens and their feathers.

Miss Edith approved.

She told Miss Drusilla that he would feel quite at home there, what with his insufferable cockiness.

After that, his Ripe Wicked Plum packed her squashed hedgehog collection, all one hundred and six of them, into the cardboard box that he keeps all of his _Sex Pistols_ albums in after throwing them onto the floor because he didn't need them. She wrapped each of her squashed darlings in pieces of her Dark Star's shirt because Drusilla's Dark Star's shirt is the best ever for wrapping squashed hedgehogs in, 'specially when he's still wearing it.

This meant unpacking him from Drusilla's bag of chicken feathers… which was beneath the trunk full of old pieces of broken cemetery urns - lovely, lovely broken cemetery urns, all made of granite and marble! (One can never have too many broken cemetery urns, isn't that right Miss Edith?)

For some strange reason, our Dark Star was quite cross with his Drusilla when she took the trunk of broken cemetery urns from atop him and the dead chickens.

Drusilla does not know why. After all, moving to a new lair was _his_ idea.

He'd said over a prostitute behind his favorite pub, "Pet, 's too soddin' crowded in our place, what with all your junk. Let's say we eat the Q'wat demons livin' in crypt number six over in that lit'l necropolis on the East End we met last night and move in? Fully detatched, pot's of room, good view, and a tunnel right to the Thames in case there's trouble – Q'wats are mad for diggin'!"

Drusilla said, "Pooey."

"Pet, it's close to an orphanage."

"Pooey. Drusilla is bored with orphans."

"There's a great view of Buck Palace, pet."

"Pooey on Buckingham Palace! Miss Edith was once granted an audience with the Queen. Her Highness doesn't dust nearly half enough."

"Pet, we're moving and that's th' end of it!"

Our Dark Star can be very masterful when he is annoyed; this time he was quite, quite annoyed so he was _very_ masterful. This meant that Drusilla made the beast with two backs with him right away because when our Dark Star is masterful, he is _interesting_.

But the best part aside from all the interestingness that comes with making the two-backed beast with our Dark Star, is that making the beast makes our Dark Star forget what he is being masterful about, oh yes, more please!

So why didn't Drusilla's Dark Star forget what he was being masterful about even after his Drusilla let him hit her with his belt when she would much rather he hit her with the bullwhip?

Miss Edith respectfully says that this is because the bullwhip got left behind and was sitting all lonely and bored on the barrel of interesting candle drips beside the thirty-pound ball of used condoms that Drusilla fished out of the canal at the bottom of the street last week.

Bullwhip or no bullwhip, Drusilla fears for the safety of her beloved things.

Drusilla says this because after her Dark Star zipped his trousers and lit a cigarette, he said, "Yeah, pet, I've made up me mind: we're movin' tonight, and we're not takin' anythin' wi' us –'s why we're movin' – 's either us or the rubbish. There's no soddin' room left!"

"So," Drusilla said when we got back to our lair, "We're not taking this autographed heroin syringe that Sid Vicious gave you?"

"S'not junk." Said our bad boy, and he picked up the gold box that the wee used syringe lived in and held it tight.

_Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, realllllyyyyy?_

"So," Drusilla said as she started packing her favorite things anyway, "We're not taking these smelly old books with Byron's messy handwriting all over them?"

"Bollocks! These aren't junk. These are original manuscripts. They come with us." Our bad boy, our Dark star, picked up his nasty old books and held them tight, too.

_Is that sooooooooooooo?_

"Then, my dear, departed one," Said Drusilla to her beloved, "What about this large bag of safety pins of yours? Will we be leaving it behind with the rest of Drusilla's junk for the man in the moon to play with?"

Our Dark Star picked the large paper bag of safety pins with his teeth and mumbled around them and the one through his lip, "They're an anti-fashion statement, and oi..." Our Dark Star spit out the bag of safety pins, "What th' 'ell are me favorite records doin' all over th' soddin' floor, they're comin' wi' us too!"

Are they now? _How verrrrrrrryyyyyyyyyyyyyyy interestingggggggg!_

"Stop that!" Yelled our Spike as his Drusilla took his lighter from his trouser's pocket, went "scritch scritch" and set his smelly old books alight, kapowf, crackle-rackle!

This made our Dark Star dance.

He's a splendid dancer, is our Dark Star.

Even Miss Edith agrees.

After a while our Dark Star stopped dancing because the books were no longer burning.

This is because there was not enough left of them to burn so the hungry fire Miss Drusilla gave to our wicked boy ate his shirt and then his hair, ka-flumph frizzle-sizzle! Now Drusilla's Sweet William can roll around on the floor screaming, "You bitch!" all he likes.

Still, it wasn't very nice of him to call Miss Edith a bitch after all she's done for him.

But Miss Drusilla isn't terribly interested in making her Spike apologize for saying rude things about Miss Edith like the bad boy he is.

Miss Drusilla has other things on her mind.

Miss Drusilla has other things on her mind because Miss Drusilla's collection of chicken feathers still on the chickens is now burning – sizzlich! So were the hedgehogs, k-fwamp!

Oh put it out, Papa Angelus oh please put it out Papa! Your Drusilla dearly loves her used condoms –sizzle-sizzle-sizzle-skitch and old light bulbs –krak-pow! her interesting wax drips – blit blit, and the big wooden box of broken cemetery urns – scorch scorch rumble rumble crumpbumpbumpbump!

However, Papa Angelus is nowhere to be seen.

This is because once upon a time, dear, sweet Grandmummy gave Papa Angelus the wrong birthday present: a Gypsy and she didn't keep the receipt –which is always the smart thing to do. Because Grandmummy didn't keep the receipt, the other Gypsies gave Drusilla's beloved papa his soul back, nasty Gypsies! So now Papa Angelus is no longer around to keep mean Spike from setting fire to his Drusilla's pretty-pretty favoriteist things and they're burning all up, ka-sizzlleitch!

However, Drusilla is a lady, and a lady, should you ask Miss Edith, "Is ready for anything and never, ever sweats. She glows."

So being very much a lady and ready for anything, Drusilla picked up her mean old Dark Star and used him to beat out the flames.

And she never once sweated, seeing as she is such a lady.

She didn't glow, either, not once! But her sweet William did.

Glowing, he handled the job like the real English gentleman he is, even if he hits you for saying so; he used up most of his face doing it, too.

However, all our poor brave boy's work was in vain, because just when he nearly put out all of the fire with his brave, screaming self, he found the surprise that Drusilla had waiting for him: a long, lovely green metal sausage shaped thingy with "Acetylene", and then "Property of Smythe and Fitch, Welders", followed by "Flammable" painted on the side in pretty letters of red.

Drusilla found poor, lyrical Acetylene all chained up like a dog in the back of a big lorry one night after she had eaten the driver, who tasted of coal oil. Drusilla freed Acetylene and brought the poor darling home after dropping her three times, and then hid her beneath the bed because mean old Spike might take her new best friend away from Drusilla before it was time for Drusilla to give Miss Acetlyene to him as an extra special prezzie.

Miss Acetylene did not care at all for being hit with Drusilla's Dark Star so she said "Hissssssssssssss" and then "Kaaaaaafloooowomb!"

This was when Drusilla, Miss Edith, most of Miss Acetylene and what was left of Drusilla's beloved Spike went flying through the air.

Miss Drusilla and her darling family landed in the canal at the bottom of the street along with the roof of their old crypt, ga-splorsch!

How very, very lucky! Now that Miss Drusilla's ball of used condoms is all burnt to sticky black ashes, there are more floating in the beautiful lumpy water – she can start making a new one straight away!

But where will the new ball live, now that Drusilla's lair is all over the place?

The new ball will live with Drusilla and her Dark Star and Miss Edith in crypt #6, the nice new lair that Drusilla's dear, dear wicked Spike picked out for her in the East End of Town! It's fully detatched, with pot's of room, a good view, and a tunnel right to the Thames with Q'wat demons to nibble upon – and plenty of room for Drusilla and Miss Edith's other new things… oh how Drusilla loves to move!


End file.
